


Game Over

by sabby1



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Crossdressing, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Silly, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: Everybody knows that Kylo Ren always wins at Podracers: Kessel Run.But it looks like everybody forgot to pass that message along to General Armitage Hux, because the insufferable little butt-weasel keeps kicking ass and taking names on the high-score list one race at a time.





	Game Over

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response for KyluxXoxo Summer Fest Week 5 (7/29/18-8/5/18) – Eyeliner, Game, Edge - on tumblr.
> 
> It's probably the silliest thing I've ever written. 
> 
> I also stole two quotes from one of my favorite authors (Oscar Wilde) and one from the movie Clue. You'll see.
> 
> Enjoy, and please leave some feedback if you liked it. I crave that stuff almost as much as nutella and coffee.
> 
> ###### 

Everybody knows that Kylo Ren always wins at Podracers: Kessel Run.

But it looks like everybody forgot to pass that message along to General Armitage Hux, because the insufferable little butt-weasel keeps kicking ass and taking names on the high-score list one race at a time.

Ren is fuming and Hux is grinning, and it’s starting to get humiliating when Ren can hear and feel the vindictive joy permeating the thickly-crowded officers lounge. 

“One more race,” he demands through gritted teeth.

“With pleasure, Ren,” Hux drawls and it’s so obvious he’s mocking Ren with the way he rolls the L and the R and just the all over smarmy delight on his pale, angular face. “Care to make a wager on this one?”

“Yes,” Ren hisses before he thinks about it. “If you win this time, I’ll strangle you until you squeak.”

Hux chortles like it’s not even a real threat, but then there’s a dangerous glint in his pale blue eyes and a filthy, rotten, evil smirk curls his thin pink lips, and he purrs, “How about instead the loser has to put on makeup, dress like a slave girl, and proclaim their undying love and subservience for the winner on the throne room balcony?”

The entire officers lounge falls silent with shock. 

Kylo Ren’s jaw drops. “What are you? Twelve?”

“Do you want a rematch or not?” 

Hux pushes the button on the controller, bringing up the new ranking list. He has overtaken Ren in first place by one point.

Ren snarls like a Corellian hound with a bone in its jaws. “Yes.” 

“Goodie,” Hux says with so much glee it should be dripping from his pores. 

“In the Ice Shallows,” Ren demands, “with no steering or nav-comp assist.” 

Hux rolls his eyes. “If you insist.”

Oh, Ren is fired up now. He’s going to make that smarmy little butt-weasel wear a slave outfit so skimpy there’ll be nothing left to the imagination, and he’ll make sure to have a droid nearby to record every humiliating second of it.

Hux has never even attempted the course, as far as he knows, and it’s the most difficult one in the game: impossible to finish, let alone score well on, unless you know all the traps and shortcuts.

Ren has them memorized forward and backward.

They confirm their racers. Select the course. 3…2…1…

He’s off, unable to pay attention to Hux, or the mini-map, or anything except the tricky obstacle course of falling glaciers and sudden icebergs on the lookout for the first shortcut.

He dodges an avalanche, dips under an icy arch and zooms through a wide fissure into the narrow tunnel that will put him head and tail ahead of Hux.

The tell-tale screech of metal grinding and shattering puts a smirk on his face. Hux just crashed his ship. Two more crashes and he’ll be completely out of the race.

Ren doesn’t have time to gloat because he almost crashes his own racer before he banks at the last second and manages to shoot out of the other side of the tunnel unharmed. 

The race continues. A couple of times he catches a glimpse of the nose of Hux’s racer in his rearview, but he can’t pay attention to that. It’s a hard, fast 3-round race and before he knows it, he’s on the final stretch. 

Then it happens.

~!~

There’s an explosion, and the final thick ice arch ahead of him comes crumbling down, forcing him to do a barrel roll to get out of the way, but Hux fucking shoots straight past, gets ahead of him, and goes through the finish line in first place.

Ren can’t move. He can’t even blink as he stares at the flashing lines that scroll down the screen. 

Hux is now firmly in first place, six points ahead of him. 

The officers lounge clears out faster than Mos Eisley Cantina after a Wookiee let one rip.

It’s just Hux and Ren in the room, and the temperature seems to have risen sharply. Ren clears his throat and resists the urge to pull on the collar of his stiff black tunic.

“I win.” 

Hux’s voice makes him twitch. He grits his teeth and nods, once, very slowly. He does not look at Hux.

“Since this was your idea,” he presses the words through clenched molars, “I assume you know where I can acquire the necessary accessories.”

“That’s not my problem. However, a bet is a bet, so, for your sake, I suggest you figure it out.”

He almost breaks a tooth at the glib dismissal and then almost breaks Hux’s neck out of sheer spite, but he is a man of his word. 

The makeup turns out to be much easier to come by than the clothes. A fair number of the crew are female and one of them is easily convinced with a swift mind trick to surrender her precious paraphernalia and forget all about it.

The actual slave outfit costs him 200 credits and most of his dignity before he ever even puts it on. The knowing, hungry look the black market dealer trails all over his body when Ren asks for a top in his size will never wash off.

It almost makes him wish he had the ability to erase his own memories, especially the memory of Hux cackling when he walks back around the corner. 

“After you, my lady,” Hux drawls. 

Ren’s hand lashes out. They are standing so close he doesn’t need to use the Force to restrict the general’s windpipe. 

“Do not presume to take liberties beyond the scope of our bet, general.” 

Hux chokes, and gags, and nods jerkily against Ren’s crushing grip around his throat. 

Given the late hour, the throne room is mercifully abandoned. Snoke and his praetorian guard have retired to the Supreme Leader’s private chambers on a different level of the ship.

Ren resists the urge to lock himself inside the refresher, but he closes the door firmly in Hux’s face when the other man leans inside the frame.

He has no idea where to start. He doesn’t even have a single memory of watching his mother put on makeup to fall back on. 

He squares his jaw. How hard can it be?

Five minutes later he has the answer: Fucking Hard.

He opens the door just a crack and barks, “Get me the woman who owns this makeup. Now,” then slams the door closed again before Hux can say anything.

Another ten minutes later, the ensign in question looks thoroughly confused and mildly terrified when General Hux shoves her into the refresher inside Supreme Leader Snoke’s throne room with orders to do as she’s told.

Ren pushes her makeup bag toward her. “Use this on me.” 

“How?” She pulls it against her chest with a quizzical, fragile expression. “What? I don’t understand.” 

Ren loses his temper and resorts to using his Force powers. “You will use your makeup on my face. You will make it look as good as is within your capabilities and afterward you will collect your things, leave the throne room, and forget any of this ever happened.”

After that it takes her surprisingly little time to go through her entire arsenal, though Ren swears there is no possible way she could have used all of it without making him look like a clown.

When he steps in front of the mirror, he does not look like a clown.

His eyes are framed with smoky shadow and thick black eyeliner, and he is fairly certain his lashes were not nearly this long before the ensign did her thing. His cheekbones look sharp enough to cut durasteel for some unknown reason, and his scar has been blended away into an unnaturally smooth complexion. The waxy taste on his lips comes from deep red lipstick framed with even more dark liner; his mouth looks obscene. 

Ren barely recognizes his own face under all of it. Perhaps that’s for the best.

He takes off his tunic, folds it, and puts it aside. Then he casts a withering stare at the flimsy pile of clothes resting on the corner of the sink. 

The outfit leaves nothing to the imagination. The top barely spans his chest. The flexible bars of the brassiere weave around his nipples, but he ends up removing the fabric inside them because there is no point in having it flap around, trying to cup non-existent large breasts.

The bottom is not much better. Two narrow swaths of red Lashaa silk connected to a brass girdle with little more than gossamer thread and prayer have no hope of covering him up. If anything, the girdle draws an inordinate amount of attention to the location and size of his private parts. 

He’s going to kill Hux. He’s not sure how and when, but the man’s fate is sealed.

A quick rap of knuckles on the door makes him jump. 

“Ren?” There is a winded quality to Hux’s voice, like he’s trying to suppress laughter. “Do you require more assistance?”

“No.” 

Ren grips the handle, perhaps a little too tightly, and yanks the door open, watching with satisfaction as Hux stumbles over his own feet and nearly falls on his ass before he rights himself up.

Then the general’s eyes go so wide Ren can see the white around the blue irises and the usually spiteful, sneering mouth drops open in an uncontrolled jaw-creaking gawk. 

“Not one sound,” Ren growls. 

Hux shakes his head and keeps turning it to watch after Ren as he walks toward the balcony, an enclosed view port offering an unobstructed vista of the enormous hangar bay below.

The crew members working on the Star Destroyers and various TIE fighters through the night shift are barely larger than ants.

Ren braces his hands against the cold, metallic banister and tries not to throw up at the thought of what he is about to do. He silently thanks the maker that the balcony is enclosed. At least this will prevent his words from actually traveling to the masses below, and the regulated ventilation system prohibits any sudden gusts of air. 

He still clenches his fists and forestalls the moment for as long as he can.

“Say it.” 

Of course, Hux is impatient. His tone practically vibrates with malicious excitement.

Ren makes an uncomfortable noise in his throat. 

“I …” His voice creaks with reluctance.

“Wait.”

For a crazy moment, Ren thinks that maybe Hux still has a shred of human decency left inside that heartless shell of a First Order General. Maybe he will let him off the hook. 

“Turn around. Look at me when you say it.” 

Of course not. Silly Ren. 

“And use my name,” Hux adds quickly. “My full name.”

Ren grits his teeth so hard it’s a miracle his jaw doesn’t break. He squares his shoulders and his muscles flex as he clenches his fists and slowly turns around. 

He can barely see through the white hot flare of humiliation. Hux is little more than a silhouette in the crimson surroundings of the throne room.

“I hereby proclaim that you have my undying love and subservience, General Armitage Hux.” 

Every single word burns like acid on his tongue, and he wants to take it back, wants to wipe the memory from Hux’s mind and his own and never ever use the words proclaim or love or subservience again for the rest of his life. 

Ren holds his breath, fighting against his darker instincts to kill Hux right now. Only the knowledge that Snoke won’t approve stays his hand. 

He watches the man stand perfectly still with his hands folded behind his back and waits for the cackling laughter. 

Hux’s nostrils flare. Then he nods stiffly, turns quickly on his heel, and walks away.

Ren remains on the balcony, bemused, staring after his retreating back. 

The general’s unexpected reaction is such a mystery that it still plagues Ren’s mind after he has finished scrubbing the makeup from his face and putting his clothes back on. 

Ren reluctantly takes the slave outfit with him, unwilling to let it be discovered by anyone.

As he passes the general’s door he cannot resist taking a look behind it and into Hux’s mind. 

The images and sensations that confront him are the most unspeakable thing he has witnessed since joining Snoke and the First Order.

Hux is … and in the general’s mind they are … right there on the balcony … in front of Snoke and the praetorian guard?!

Ren retreats from Hux’s mind as fast as he can and hightails it back to his own quarters at double pace. 

Behind closed doors, he squeezes his eyes shut, sucks in one deep breath after another, and tries to will away the undignified, unsolicited, unrelenting erection in his own breeches.

 

The next morning on the bridge there are furtive looks. There are concealed mutterings. There is an overwhelming miasma of morbid curiosity thickening the air.

Fear is the only thing holding them back – fear of their general’s ruthless authority and Kylo Ren’s unbridled temper.

Ren strides along the walkway circling the command and control trench and comes to a deliberate stop right next to Hux, looking through the window onto the structures below. 

The impulse to slip into the general’s mind is strong, too strong to resist.

“I know what you did last night,” he murmurs, just loud enough to catch the general’s ear. 

A spike of surprise and shame drives through Hux’s mind. His ears turn a vibrant shade of pink.

Ren smirks. 

Then he feels it. Cloaked inside the molten rock of shame simmers a heat of a different and much darker nature. Hux is thrilled at having been caught.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Hux's tone is shamelessly salacious and has an instant effect on Ren’s crotch. 

It takes a long moment and several controlled breaths for Ren to muster a response that will not leave his mouth as an undignified noise. He hides his body’s mutiny behind a cold sneer and a snapping swish of his cloak.

“Depraved.”

Hux smirks. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” 

Ren sucks in another deep breath through his nose, turns on his heel, and leaves the bridge. 

~!~

That’s how it could have happened. But how about this?

~!~

There’s an explosion, and the final thick ice arch ahead of him comes crumbling down, forcing him to do a barrel roll to get out of the way, but Hux fucking shoots straight past and gets his racer crushed completely underneath tons of ice as Ren goes through the finish line in first place.

Ren whoops with triumph. 

He has recovered first place, four points ahead of Hux. 

The officers in the lounge collectively hold their breath like the patrons in Mos Eisley cantina after a Wookiee let one rip. 

“Out,” barks Hux, looking several shades paler than normal. “Now!” 

Everyone else scatters like a swarm of nightcrawlers, leaving Hux and Ren alone in the empty lounge. 

“I assume,” Hux says stiffly past a quivering bottom lip, “that you want me to make good on this bet immediately.”

“Absolutely,” Ren rumbles with a note of cruel pleasure.

Watching the general order some hapless ensign to surrender her supposedly “non-regulation makeup” almost makes Ren crack up. 

When the arrogant man twists and squirms uncomfortably under the knowing, hungry gaze of the black market dealer who sells him the slave girl costume, Ren loses it. 

He’s still laughing by the time Hux slinks back toward him, red in the face and crumpling the offending outfit between his fingers. 

“My lady,” Ren drawls and motions for Hux to proceed him down the corridor toward the throne room. 

He can feel the hot-headed humiliation spiral outward from the stiff body walking less than five feet in front of him. There is something else swirling in the general’s emotions, but Ren is too distracted by his own amusement to pay attention. 

Given the late hour, the throne room is abandoned. Snoke and his praetorian guard have retired to the Supreme Leader’s private chambers on a different level of the ship.

Hux dashes into the refresher and locks the door before Ren has a chance to keep up with him, the slippery little weasel.

It doesn’t matter. Ren can wait. The longer Hux stalls, the more likely he’ll be seen by someone other than Ren, so it’s no skin off his back. 

Ren crosses his arms and waits. And waits. And waits some more. 

After fifteen minutes, he’s ready to break down the door and drag Hux out by his ginger hair. Instead, he bangs his fist against the metal sheet just hard enough to shake it in its frame.

“Unless you prefer completing our bet in front of the praetorian guard, I suggest you hurry up.” 

The door opens and Ren’s mouth snaps shut. 

A pair of toxic blue eyes stares back at him, framed with thick lines of coal and long black lashes that curl into needle sharp points at their tips. Hux’s lips are blood red and more voluptuous than Ren has ever seen them.

He wonders what they would look like wrapped around his cock.

The wayward thought makes him shudder as his captivated gaze follows the man across the room to the balcony. 

Have Hux’s legs always been that long? Ren could have sworn the man was a few inches shorter than him, but that’s clearly not true when there are miles of toned naked legs attesting to the opposite.

Ren closes his eyes and clenches his fists at his sides, trying to get himself under control. 

As if pulled by the Force, he lumbers after Hux and finds the other man draped against the banister like he’s posing for a portrait. 

Hux opens his mouth, makes a pitiful noise, and snaps it shut again. 

Until this point, Ren has forgotten that Hux is supposed to say something while he’s standing there looking like the personification of a sexual favor. What was it again?

“Remind me, Hux,” Ren drawls, “what was it you’re supposed to say?” 

Something hard and cold flashes through Hux’s eyes as he presses his lips together in a tight crimson line. 

The general’s angular chin barely trembles, but Ren is looking for any sign of weakness, so it’s easy for him to spot. It’s also very obvious that Hux’s nipples are hard through the flimsy material lining the weaving brass bars of the top. 

Ren trails his eyes down the general’s front in deliberate slow motion until his gaze lands heavily on the brass girdle covering Hux’s crotch. He lets it linger there before he looks back up into Hux’s face.

The general’s cheeks and ears have turned an alarming shade of pink. 

“I…” He croaks, clears his throat, and starts again. “I proclaim my lo-love and subservience in service to you.”

“Ah-ah-ah.” Ren raises his hand and waggles his forefinger. “That’s not quite what we agreed on, is it?” 

Hux’s nostrils flare as he glares at Ren across the few steps separating them. He stands perfectly still, but his chest expands and contracts with every heavily controlled breath he takes. 

Ren can feel the discomfort and anger pouring out of Hux, and it makes him giddy.

“I do believe it was “undying love and subservience” to me, directly, no qualifiers.” He smiles. “Try again.”

He does not expect the sudden burst of motion, so he’s unprepared when Hux closes the distance and grabs him by the back of the neck, toxic blue eyes snaring his gaze as his blood red lips snarl an inch away from Ren’s own. 

“I, Armitage Hux, proclaim herewith that you, Kylo Ren, shall have my undying love and subservience from this day forward unto eternity.” He releases Ren from his hold and takes a deliberate step back. “Satisfied?”

Ren can’t feel his feet, but he can definitely feel his raging hard-on throbbing inside his breeches. 

He nods stiffly, turns around, and retreats as fast as dignity will allow from the throne room. 

Back in his quarters, he barely makes it through the door before he shoves his hand through the hidden fold in the inseam of his breeches and jerks off with hard, fast strokes. 

He doesn’t bother to stifle the curses and nonsense spilling from his mouth as he brings himself to a quick, jolting climax, imagining blood red lips and toxic blue eyes.

 

The next morning on the bridge there are furtive looks. There are concealed mutterings. There is an overwhelming miasma of morbid curiosity thickening the air.

Fear is the only thing holding them back – fear of their general’s ruthless authority and Kylo Ren’s unbridled temper.

Ren strides along the walkway circling the command and control trench and comes to a deliberate stop right next to Hux, looking through the window onto the structures below. 

The impulse to slip into the general’s mind is too strong to resist, but before Ren can make sense of the emotions spilling over through the Force, the general speaks.

“I heard you last night,” he murmurs, barely loud enough to catch Ren’s ear. 

A spike of surprise and shame drives through Ren. He’s glad his hair covers his ears as they start to burn.

“Sounded like you were struggling…” Hux’s tone is shamelessly salacious and has an instantaneous effect on Ren’s crotch. “…to control yourself.”

It takes a long moment and several controlled breaths for Ren to muster a response that is appropriate for their current surroundings. He hides his body’s traitorous reaction behind a snapping swish of his cloak.

Then he feels it. A dark, wicked heat, simmering below the tightly controlled surface of the general’s mind. Hux gets a thrill out of being the cause of Ren’s arousal, and it affects him just as badly. 

Ren smirks. 

“You know me, Hux,” he growls quietly. “I can resist everything except temptation.” 

Hux takes a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, and rocks once on his heels before he responds with a curt nod.


End file.
